


Be a scribe, write it in your heart

by huntingosprey



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 05:22:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4007455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huntingosprey/pseuds/huntingosprey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes and Watson spend their days hunting down thieves and murderers in the heat, dust and ruins of ancient Egypt, but it's just as dangerous as a foggy London street. Possible more so as the Gods of Egypt's past aren't quite as dead and gone as everyone thinks, a fact that today Watson is very glad of.</p><p><b>A/N</b> I got the Victorian AU bit but I'm sorry about the lack of humor, the characters fought right up to the deadline for it to go like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be a scribe, write it in your heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thecount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecount/gifts).



I had considered it nothing more than a continuation of the ill luck that had dogged my army career when the steamer bearing me home broke down in Egypt, in retrospect I know see it was an act of Ma'at. The first in what has been a long series of acts of Divine meddling in my life and that of the one I hold as my closest and dearest companion.

Holmes and I had, literally, run into each other in Luxor while I was awaiting news of my passage back to England and after that first frantic, danger filled week of chasing down murderous tomb robbers for the antiquities department had decided to throw in our lot together and taken lodging in Luxor. It is a decision I have never regretted except once and then only briefly. I was strolling back from my medical rounds among the Fellahin, a useful source of information on the comings and goings of people and things in Luxor which had in the past provided Holmes with the intelligence necessary to foil some truly spectacular thefts, when something hovering in the mouth of an ally caught my eye. I saw it briefly, no more than three heartbeats but it was enough to drain the warmth from my body and cause my heart to stutter.

The creature was unmistakable, I had seen it's representation in a hundred papyri and thousands of wall carvings across Egypt, I had also seen it painted on the wall of houses as a warning or an accusation. The hieroglyphic sign for Set, the gods of storms and waste places, the first murderer in history. It was a common superstition that the creature appeared to those about whom violence swirled. The creature vanished almost as soon as I saw it and the paralysis it had caused in me left with it, my first thought was to heft my medical bag and look around to see if any around me showed signs of violence towards me. 

All was normal however, no sign of violence was to be seen in the crowd that flowed past me, I took a deep breath to settle myself and grinned at the thought of Holmes response to the incident. Neither of us could deny that the gods of Egypt weren't as dead as everyone had thought, we'd both seen to much to doubt their existence but Holmes refused to give credence to anything he deemed smacked of superstition. I could already hear his mocking voice when a sudden thought caused me to grow cold again. What if the warning had not been aimed at me but had been a warning for Holmes? I abandoned dignity and began to run back to our lodgings as fast as I could, my mind bringing up all the horrors of war that I had witnessed but now every body had Holmes face. So intent was I on reaching out lodgings that I almost didn't notice the slim dog like form keeping pace with me until it tangled in my legs as I made to turn down the road that would lead to the part of town where we stayed. Stumbling, trying not to fall full length into the dust I turned to curse at the creature only to fell my breath stolen again. It was not a dog but a black jackal, with eyes far to knowing for it to be a mere animal. The avatar of Anubis bounded down a side street and I scrambled to follow a silent prayer in my heart that such divine help would mean I was not to late.

Stumbling into an alleyway I found my guide had vanished, I spared not a second thought for him as my eyes made out the shape of a tall thin man slumped amid the rubbish that was pilled outside the back of a row of shops. After so many years of living and working with Holmes I had found I could recognize him through even the heaviest disguise, so, checking to make sure that there were no malefactors still present I hurried to his side. He was in poor shape, bleeding from many cuts and his alabaster skin already darkening with bruises. I cleaned him as well as I could cursing silently to myself so as not to attract any unwanted attention, when I had done all I could I scavenged enough ragged linen to wrap him lightly against the chill of evening and reluctantly headed out of the alley to see if I could find transport to get Holmes back to our lodgings. Luck, or divine meddling, was with me as I swiftly acquired the service of a cart and horse and we trundled through the darkening streets of Luxor without anyone raising an eyebrow. 

Back in the safety of out lodgings I stripped Holmes to the skin and carefully cleaned, stitched and wrapped his numerous wounds. It was a task that left me shaking with the knowledge that had he lain in the alley overnight he would have died. Sitting by his bed, a strong cup of tea in hand to keep me awake I tried to clam my fears and get me emotions back under control. Even in this land, the wonders of which had drawn the best and the worst of the world to it Holmes stood unique and unsurpassed, I had long known myself to be in thrall to him fathoms deep but that night sitting what could still so easily turn into a deathwatch I found myself struggling with these feelings. For the first, and last, time I found myself bitterly regretting the turn my life had taken, that I had ever taken up with Holmes for all I could see stretching out in front of me was an endless span of silent longing and fear of discovery.

Despite my intentions to stay awake I must have fallen asleep in the small hours of the night as I woke to a room light by bright morning sun and, to my immense relief and joy, Holmes open eyes. He was slow that first morning but aware and remembered much of what had happened to him. I tended him for a week hiding behind the masks of doctor and friend before he was able to rise from his bed again, he was quieter than was his wont and he often looked to be far away in thought although he roused easily enough where addressed. About a month later when I had removed the last of the stitches he sat down in his chair turning something over and over in his fingers as he looked at me with a serious eye and a grim face.

"Watson, I," Holmes cleared his throat softly "I am well aware that you probably do not and will never."

He stopped again looking down at the object in his hands.

"Holmes," I said gently, "what ever is troubling you you may speak of it to me without fear. I will not judge you for it."

He looked up at me for a long moment, eyes sharp and then held out the object he had been cradling to me. Taking it I saw it was a turquoise amulet, the style of thing sold to tourists on every street corner. Looking at it more closely I saw that the carving was finer than such trinkets were and then I recognized the goddess depicted and the world went dim and distant for a moment. It could not mean what I deeply wished it to, it was impossible for Holmes to have that kind of affection for me. I became aware of Holmes voice low and strained

"knew I might die, my biggest regret was not having spoken of my regard for you. I promised myself that if I lived I would speak."

I stood frozen the little head of Hathor staring up at me from my hand and suddenly, as if by divine revelation I saw my path clear. I walked over to the one who had long before this moment held me soul in his keeping and gave him the answer he both longed and feared to hear.

These events are many years in our past now and the world spins a new path and we who were part of the old fade away, I came across an old scroll of advice the other day which advocated the profession of scribe above all others as it was writing that ensured a man of the continual remembrance of those who come after them and so I have written the many stories of our lives, but this one I have written for myself and no other eyes.


End file.
